Daisies in December
by darkershade
Summary: Professor Longbottom wanders into the Leaky Cauldron on Christmas Eve and meets an old friend. Neville/Hannah; rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

"Oy, Dean!" Neville grinned at the man up ahead of him leaning casually against the brick wall of the unassuming building.

"Nev! How does it, man? It's been ages." Dean shook his friend's hand.

"Too long, indeed." They casually rested their arms against the door of the building, felt the wave of magical energy coursing through it, and, as he saw no one paying them any attention on the street, Neville opened the door.

"Two Firewhiskeys," Dean shouted into the din, in the general direction of the bar. Everyone in all of magical London seemed to be here warming their bones, but after some searching the two men were able to find a table in a corner, where the young woman with blonde hair brought their drinks, smiling and tilting up her chin at them.

"Dean? Professor? Good to see you!" She waved to them and then proceeded to make the rounds to the other tables, unloading her laden tray at each stop.

"Holy-Is that-Is that Hannah Abbott?"

"Er-yeah. I think so." Neville hid his blush behind his drink-his typical reaction whenever he saw a pretty girl-and took a sip.

"So how you been, man?" Dean asked.

"Oh, can't complain. Still at Hogwarts."

"What's this-two years now?"

"Yeah."

"Man. What's that like?"

"Oh, you know. It's pretty good. I get to do what I love-work with some pretty cool kids."

"And probably some rank shits, too."

"Yeah, well," Neville raised his glass and grinned. "Reasons why I drink."

"So have you ever gone, like, full Snape on someone?"

Neville laughed. "Yeah. I actually pulled a play from his book last week. This Slytherin kid-Oscar McNair-fuckin' around with the venomous tentacula. I unleashed some pretty serious wrath. Think he maybe cried."

"Oh, how the tables have turned."

Neville raised his glass. "To Severus Snape-he may not have been a nice guy-"

"And what an ugly bugger-"

"But by God, he put up with us all. After all the times I nearly melted down the potions classroom. And was, I guess, a decent sort of bloke, after all was said and done."

"I can't believe we're drinking to him." They clinked glasses. "Hey, Nev, remember that boggart?"

Neville cackled. "I'll never forget that."

"So, all in all, you happy, man?"

"I like my job, yeah. It's-I guess it's what I always wanted to do and never realized it. I figured I'd be an auror, and that was pretty cool for a while, but I missed...I missed hanging out with kids, feeling like I was helping people before they were too old to be helped."

"Like in Dumbledore's Army?"

"Yeah." He sipped. "You? How's it going over at the Prophet?"

"Pretty good, I guess, all things considered. Not altogether the most exciting work-reporting on Muggle-wizard relations isn't a thrill if you've lived among Muggles your whole life-but it puts food on the table."

"And Parvati? She and the kids good?"

"Yeah-" and he reached into his wallet, pulling out a picture of a familiar-looking woman smiling, waving, holding two near-identical children, one on each hip. The kids in the picture were looking around wide-eyed, their dark brown eyes and shiny black hair gleaming in the sunshine. "Just turned two. Finnegan is just like his mum. Sweetest temper. I think little Lavender took after me, though-she's a firecracker."

"They look good. It's a good-looking family," Neville said, patting his friend on the back. "Parvati still at the Department of Mysteries?"

"Yeah. Still have no idea about most of what she does. Scares me. But she seems happy."

"That's important." As he finished his glass and raised his hand, Neville's heart skipped a beat when Hannah strode over to their table again.

"Another round?" she asked.

"Yeah, but-can we buy you one, too, Hannah?" Dean asked. "Can you join us? We're just shooting the breeze and reminiscing."

She studied Neville, then replied to Dean, "Can't now. Full house. Maybe later?"

"Yeah. Sure." And she strode away. Neville noticed her clothes-dark green turtleneck. Form-fitting jeans. Boots. That blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. She looked comfortable, and pretty, and nice.

"What was that about," Dean asked.

Neville shook his head. "What?"

"She looks good."

Neville shrugged. They talked of other things for a while until Hannah came back. She set a glass in front of Dean, and then another in front of Neville-"Here you go, Professor," she said, smiling at him, and then walked away again.

"That seemed...flirtatious."

"What? No."

"Neville, have you even...like, have you thought about finding somebody?"

Neville stared into his drink. "Yeah, but, I mean...it's...like, it's hard. My schedule...I've got so much going on, all the time...and the kids...I'm running Dueling Club at school...plus all the grading, and the planning. McGonagall's got me running around after the Gryffindors-I'm Head of House this year; Hagrid couldn't take the pressure after this kid last year almost got expelled for this whole thing involving Peeves and some doxies-and I just-like, when would I have time?"

"I don't know, but...be honest with you, man? You look like you need...you know."

"Yeah. God, I know."

"How long has it been?"

"That's an oddly personal question."

"Luna?"

"I-yeah."

"God, that was ages ago! What was it-five? Six years?"

"Yeah, and it didn't last long when it was happening, either."

"I heard she's married now."

"Yeah. Rolf Scamander-great guy; fucking loaded. I went to the wedding. She rode in on a bloody hippogriff."

"Of course she did."

Neville smiled. Luna was his best friend. They'd tried dating for a while, after the Battle of Hogwarts, but it hadn't worked out. Their auras didn't sync like that, or something, she'd said. It had been exhausting, he remembered, trying to keep up with her. He'd been relieved when they'd broken up and gone back to being friends, though it meant he'd have to start looking again, and that was right in the middle of auror training. Then came his two-year stint as an auror, which hadn't suited his lifestyle at all, although working with Weasley and Potter was pretty cool. He'd been just as busy then as he was now, with none of the satisfaction. When McGonagall approached him about the Herbology job, he'd taken it immediately, though he knew it meant giving up his apartment in the city and any hope of socializing on a regular basis with anyone who wasn't a teacher. He'd chosen his career over his personal life, yes, but he'd always been so awkward with women that it seemed like an easy trade-off.

"But seriously. What do you know about Hannah? She looks good," Dean repeated.

"Yeah-I dunno. She just started working here a few months ago, I think. Was in training to be a healer a while back, but...I dunno."

"You should ask her out."

Neville's eyes widened. "Me?"

"Yeah. You're a big success now, yeah? Professor, and all? She'd say yes, I think."

Yeah, but I'm still Neville Bloody Longbottom, he thought. "Isn't she-wasn't she with Ernie MacMillan?"

"Only one way to find out."

"Hmmm," Neville mused.

They talked about current events, ancient history, and everything in between, and it was a pleasant reunion. After an hour or so, though, Dean said, "I've gotta go-we're doing Christmas Eve at Padma's this year, and I've got to run over to the shop for some more floo powder before they close. You good, man?"

"Yeah. I'll just settle up."

"Here-" Dean handed him a few knuts, but Neville brushed his hand away. "You sure, man?"

"I got it."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Come over for dinner sometime. Parvati'd love to see you again."

"Will do. Tell Seamus hi when he gets back from Ireland."

"Sure. Happy Christmas."

"Same." Neville made his way over to the counter. The bar had cleared out mostly, all the patrons eager to get home, and Neville took a seat on a bar stool. Hannah didn't see him there at first; she stood at the taps on the opposite side, pulling pints for a few lingering patrons wearing kippahs that coordinated with their wizards' robes and bickering in Yiddish. They didn't need to get home for Christmas Eve.

She'd put on some weight (hadn't they all?) and her full hips and round backside swayed enticingly as she walked, setting the pint glasses down at the table and sliding their tips into the pocket of her apron. She picked up their empty glasses and walked them over to the kitchen for the dishwasher, and was re-entering the bar when she saw Neville sitting there.

"Hello there," she said. "Would you like another?" She smiled at him.

"Nah." He took a deep breath. "How have you been?"

"Oh, same, mostly." She smiled, leaning forward. "You?"

"Yeah. Good."

"How's Hogwarts?"

"It's still there."

Her smile deepened. His heart fluttered. He'd never noticed how pretty her eyes were when she smiled. He made a decision.

"Hannah, what are you doing tomorrow?" he heard himself ask.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

"Well-er-why do you ask?"

"I was thinking...maybe you might like to have dinner with me."

"Professor Longbottom-"

"Seriously, it's just Neville, Hannah. You've known me for years."

"Neville, then."

"Thanks."

"You realize tomorrow is Christmas?"

"Oh. Yeah." He let out his breath and out came a chuckle. "Shit."

She laughed too. "Were you really just...did you just ask me out?"

"I guess I did." He shook his head. "Sorry."

"No, it's...I mean, I don't mind."

"Oh." He raised his eyebrows. She was blushing and looking down, and began to wipe down the counter top with a cloth. He wasn't sure what to do-did she mean she didn't mind that he'd asked her out because she wasn't utterly disgusted by him, but wasn't really interested, or did she mean that she didn't mind because she wanted him to, or was there some other interpretation that Neville just couldn't fathom because his font of understanding concerning women was filled to exactly zero percent?

"Do you, er, have plans for Christmas?" she asked him casually.

"Oh. Well. I'll spend it with my Gran, and my parents-like I usually do."

"Aren't your parents-I mean, they're-"

"Uh, yeah." He nodded. "They're still at St. Mungo's."

She stared at him for a few moments. "That sounds like a fucking terrible way to spend Christmas," she said, and then-she shook her head and laughed.

He nodded, snorting, and laughed too. "Family, you know?"

"Yeah." She got quiet.

"What about you? What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Oh, you know," she smiled grimly. "Going to Dad's. Probably tie a couple on, order takeaway curry, talk about Mum. He'll give me a gift certificate to Flourish and Blotts, I'll give him his new jumper. I'll put him to bed and then come home."

He shook his head at her, and then both of them started laughing again. "God, Christmas is the worst," Neville said.

"It used to be pretty great," she said.

"Did it?" Neville had never had a Christmas like the ones his friends had. It was always tinged with tragedy.

"Yeah. It's just-I miss Mum more than ever. She-she baked really good biscuits. I know it seems like a small thing, but..."

"What kind of biscuits?"

"Double chocolate and peppermint. Melt in your mouth. I've tried and tried to replicate them-I even have her exact recipe. It's not the same."

"That sounds really good. I'm sure your attempts are still better than what we always got. My Gran-she swears, up one side and down the other, that she makes the best fruitcake in England. Except, well…"

"Who the hell likes fruitcake?"

"Exactly!"

"You sure you don't want another drink?"

"You know-yeah. Sure. Beer. Can I buy you one, too?"

"If you like. Stout, ale, cider…?"

"Ale." She poured. He took a sip. Warmed him up. Her own lips closed around the edge of her glass, and he noticed the way her pale throat moved when she swallowed.

"Where are you staying these days?" she asked him.

"At Gran's."

"Didn't you have a flat near here once?"

"Yeah-gave it up when I got the job at Hogwarts. Wasn't worth paying the rent. Just decided, I can stay with Gran when I come to town. She appreciates my help around the place, anyway. What about you?"

"Oh-I'm here. Tom-he lets me stay upstairs on the top floor and takes room and board out of my salary."

"Oh." He sipped the ale again. "Good stuff."

"Thanks. Brewed it myself. Tom's teaching me the ropes around here."

"How long've you been here again? Few months?"

"Since July, actually. Got my exam scores back from healer training, and...well, it looks like I won't be doing that."

"Oh. Sorry."

She shrugged.

"So, Tom's been nice?"

"He's always been a friend of my dad's. Dad put in a word for me here. Tom offered to put me up because...well, I didn't want to live at home forever, yeah?"

"Sure."

"Anyway, I guess your life is probably pretty interesting, what with being a professor now and all."

"Eh." He shrugged. "It has its moments. It really is cool to be back at school. It's weird to see everything from the teacher's perspective. There's a lot I missed the first time around."

"We had some pretty good times there, I guess."

Neville smiled. "When we weren't getting cursed at, you mean?"

"Yeah."

He finished his drink in one final gulp. "I'd better go. Gran's probably waiting up for me."

"That's sweet."

"Yeah, it's not so sweet if I show up late. That woman still terrifies me."

She giggled. He tipped his golf hat to her, shook the long woolen duster onto his arms and shoulders, and placed his money on the counter-making sure to leave an extra tip. "Thanks, Hannah. Good to see you. Maybe I'll catch you around sometime. And-for whatever it's worth, Happy Christmas." He did the cool guy thing where you turn on your heel and walk away, and didn't even look back at her. As he reached the door, however, he remembered-fuck it, I'm not a cool guy. He turned around and walked back.

"Yeah, so, erm...I know tomorrow is Christmas and all...but maybe you'd like to...go for a walk or something tomorrow night, anyway. After all the festivities are over. Such as they are. Sure would make me feel good to have something to look forward to."

She met his eyes with her big brown ones. Had she always been this pretty?

She looked down and grinned. "Yeah. I think...I think that would be good."

"Oh… Okay, then. Can I pick you up here? Like, say, eight?"

She nodded, still smiling. "I'll be here."

"Good. Er-thanks."

She laughed a little.

"Night," he said, and walked towards the door again. Nope, still not cool. He turned to glance back at her right before he walked out into the cold again. She was still grinning.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Gran! I'm home!" Neville shouted as he unlocked the front door and passed through the wards of Augusta Longbottom's large London flat. "Brought you some of those horehound candy sticks you like-er-well, a couple of them broke in my pocket-sorry!" He shrugged off his coat and hat and left his his loafers by the door, replacing them with the fluffy slippers Gran had given him last Christmas, before trudging into the parlor where Gran sat, listening to the wireless and knitting an impossibly long scarf.

"Thank you, dear," Gran said, taking the candy he'd offered and crunching down on it with surprisingly strong teeth. "Fruitcake is on the counter in the kitchen. Have a helping-you look famished."

Neville looked down at his hand-knitted waistcoat and remembered the leanest days, when his grandmother's observation might have been truthful-when he'd been active in the fight against the Dark Lord and his minions, and he hadn't had time to enjoy the finer things in life, like a triple scoop of chocolate ice cream with extra sprinkles and hot caramel sauce from Florian Fortescue's or the sensation of biting into a hot, jam-and-butter-covered blueberry scone, grabbed at the last minute from a platter on the staff table while late to his first morning class and eaten on the run. His auror days had seen him constantly on the move, and he hadn't even needed to think about his eating habits. But now that the war was over and the pace of life had calmed, all manner of things had changed. Neville sighed-he wasn't as chubby as he'd been as a boy, but he was a far cry from sveldt. Going into the kitchen, he cut himself a slice of fruitcake, slathered on some butter to make it palatable, and took a bite. "Mmm!" he cried, pretending to like the cake. He chewed, trying not to gag, and made his way back into the parlor. He gave Gran a thumbs-up, before setting the plate of cake down. He bustled around the room, filling the watering can and tending to the poinsettias, the giant Christmas tree, and the singing snowflowers, which hummed "Good King Wenceslas" and took a bow when he finished.

"Neville, dear?" The rhythm of Gran's needles took a pause, and Neville looked up from where he sat deadheading the Transylvanian Yuleblossoms in the corner.

"I believe I forgot to tell you. We've changed Christmas plans this year."

"Changed them? Aren't we just doing the same old? St. Mungo's until visiting hours are over, and then we come back here for roast?"

"Yes-but your Uncle Algernon's had to move his trip to London up a week, so he and Lottie can go to Morocco next week on holiday. We'll be hosting them tomorrow evening, as well. Shouldn't be a problem, should it?"

Neville's mind flashed to his plans for tomorrow evening, and he could feel them dissolving. As he'd tended the plants, he'd been absentmindedly fantasizing about the possibility of Hannah laughing at his jokes, Hannah fluttering her eyes closed as he placed a good-night kiss on her forehead, Hannah maybe inviting him up for a nightcap, Hannah perhaps letting his hands wander up underneath her jumper and along the bare skin of her back, her stomach, her breasts… All slipping away with the wind.

Uncle Algie didn't just come for dinner. He came with albums and albums of photographs of his miraculous children and grandchildren, hours' worth of stories, and a penchant for challenging everyone in the room to a grand tournament of Exploding Snap that always, always culminated in his own victory.

"Er-sure, Gran. That's fine. No problem."

"Don't tell me you've made plans for tomorrow?" The ancient witch had gone back to her scarf, no doubt a present for Algie himself-and was now shrewdly glancing at her grandson. "Someone you met at the pub? You'll have to tell that Dean Thomas chappie you can see him later."

"Yes. Alright, Gran." He came and sat next to her, looking over the work she was doing, before picking up the book he'd left on the coffee table. For about five minutes, he listened to the click-clack of her needles and resigned himself to finding a way to cancel his plans with Hannah. It was his way, doing as he was bidden. But, you know what? He always kowtowed to Augusta's wishes; he had spent his whole childhood fearing her. Soon the wheels started spinning in Neville's head, and a lifetime of striving desperately to be the good grandson started to crumble at the foundations as he began secretly plotting his rebellion. Damn it all, he was Neville Bloody Longbottom, Professor of Herbology. He was a war hero! He was a grown-arsed man!

He'd wait until everyone was asleep-no, could take hours, days even. He'd lose on purpose in the first round of Exploding Snap, and then feign a stomachache-but then they'd check for him in the washroom and Algie would try to give him all kinds of advice about "bearing down" and "courtesy flushes."

He'd just have to have an attack of the sleepies. And then Disapparate from the fire escape outside of his bedroom window.

 _Really mature_ , he told himself.

But Hannah was so pretty...and soft-looking…

"So, Gran, what did you get me for Christmas this year?"

"Same thing I get you every year. A big box full of none of your damned business." The witch smirked.

Plan in place, Neville crossed his ankles in front of him on top the coffee table and opened his book, reading for about ten seconds before Gran shooed his feet off the table, and he re-crossed them on the floor in front of him.

In a little while, Gran's radio program ended, and she began to yawn. She finished off the final row of Algie's scarf, traced an intricate pattern in the air with her wand, and she and Neville watched as the scarf magically wound itself into a neat ball, plopped down into an opened gift bag, and floated neatly down under the tree. "Last present finished. It's off to bed for me."

"'Night, Gran," Neville replied, yawning himself. "I'll head that way in a little bit. I'll finish this chapter first."

Gran, extremely spry and strong for a woman her age, lifted herself off the sofa effortlessly, whispered a spell to un-light the tree, and made for the hallway. But she stopped and turned back around again. "Neville? In the spirit of Christmas, there is something I ought to tell you."

Interest piqued, he looked up from his book. "What is it, Gran?"

She paused, looked down, and drew herself up to her full height, looking dignified and formidable as ever, despite the Christmasy robe she wore with the matching polar bear slippers. "I know I don't always show you or tell you this, but I am proud of you. The sacrifices you have made, and the things you have accomplished-you've made the whole family proud. We're all so glad to call you a Longbottom. Your Uncle Algernon and Aunt Charlotte agree with me-that's part of the reason they changed plans; they especially wanted to see you before their journey, so they can tell you how proud of you they are."

Tears came to Neville's eyes-"Gran, that's-that's nice of you to say," he said, and it was, and that was about forty percent of why the tears came, but the other sixty percent was because it was going to weigh even heavier on his conscience to sneak out to see Hannah now that his grandmother had just gotten schmaltzy on him.

"Well. Now that's over, I'd better get some rest. Good night, Neville."

"Good night, Gran. Happy Christmas."

As Neville lay in bed that night, listening to the minutes tick by, he realized-this must be what it felt like to be a child, waiting up for Father Christmas to visit. His heart fluttered, but it wasn't presents he was looking forward to.


End file.
